


you in the grain of every syllable i say

by caramelize



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, Language of Flowers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelize/pseuds/caramelize
Summary: This isn't a drama, and Mitsuki is never the leading role.So he gives himself a deadline.





	you in the grain of every syllable i say

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for part 3 all over the place! 
> 
> waves hands  
> just take it

The first hint of it happened on a rare day when their jobs finished up early enough that they could eat dinner together and relax until bedtime afterwards, all piled into the common room. Magi☆Cocona wasn’t on until tomorrow, so the TV at this hour played variety shows instead, the applause from the audience and Shimooka-san’s familiar stage voice carrying into the kitchen, where Mitsuki was reaching into the fridge to grab a beer. There wasn’t any work for him until the following afternoon, and with the contented, warm atmosphere of everyone glad to be together bubbling up, he felt like indulging in a drink with Yamato. He popped the tab as he meandered back to the group, his attention drawn away from the TV and over to Tamaki feeding Nagi bites of King Pudding in exchange for giving him answers to his English homework, both undeterred by Iori snapping at Tamaki to do it himself every time. 

So it was Sougo who noticed first. 

He gasped, sharp and distressed, startling everyone into freezing, and the commotion coming from the TV filled in the space their conversations had taken up a moment before. On the screen, the young, pretty, talented lead actress they’d been interviewing kneeled on the floor, and while she was mostly turned away from the camera, there were so, so many deep purple morning glories littered around her that it didn’t matter. Underneath the shouting, underneath her co-star and Shimooka-san asking if she was all right over and over again, there was the sound of strangled coughing. Before the camera cut out, the last thing Mitsuki saw was the actress moving her arm as if to bring her hand to her mouth to stem the flow of flowers, but they still tumbled out between her fingers, more on top of the pile already gathered there. 

No one spoke, even after a new, flustered host came on, tripping over his words as he apologized for the interruption. It wasn’t until two commercials into the break that Riku, finally, hesitantly, interrupted the silence. 

“That…that’s been happening a lot recently, hasn’t it?” 

“Not on TV,” Yamato replied, and drained the rest of his beer. “But you hear rumors about so-and-so coming down with it nearly every day.” 

“It’s such a shame. Will she be able to film like this?” Sougo’s voice was small, a murmur so quiet Mitsuki thought he might be talking to himself instead of the group. 

“They’ll make her get the surgery,” Iori said. “There’s no question about it.” 

The room lapsed into silence again, except for the sound of pages turning as Iori went back to his work, but it was obvious from his unfocused gaze that he wasn’t reading so much as he was distracting his eyes and hands. Mitsuki kept watching the TV, now a rerun of the variety show to fill in the time until the next program came on. Strange, how he’d seen her smiling demurely from the cover of a magazine just hours before. She’d said in her interview that she had no one in mind, but her type of man was someone responsible and mature, the kind of person she could depend on and make a happy, stable life with. Was that a lie? Or was there someone kind and steady around her, a coworker or old flame from school, that made flowers bloom in her lungs? Or, possibly cruelest of all, was it someone entirely new, someone snatched away before even she could possibly recognize the feeling? 

He’d never considered himself the romantic type, but it was upsetting to see a tragedy played out in front of them, and to Mitsuki, it felt like they were intruding. Idols and love affairs were taboo to mix, but they were still people, still had feelings, and it was sad that such a thing would be efficiently and immediately removed, like an unruly fan or a scandal. He looked to Nagi, who was a terrible, unrepentant romantic, but the other was staring at the screen instead, a rare, rare instance where his expression was shuttered, and Mitsuki felt a strange shiver to think that even Nagi was so bothered by this. A beat later, however, he seemed to sense Mitsuki’s gaze, and turned away to toss a smile and a wink in his direction, a tacit _everything is okay_. It didn’t sit well with Mitsuki that he might have looked unsettled enough to warrant reassurance over something so small, but that just meant he had to shake himself out of his uncharacteristic stupor and reach for the remote. 

“C’mon, we’re going to miss the drama Yuki-san’s in.” 

“Is Yukirin on tonight?” Tamaki closed his workbook and pushed it aside, finished—or, more likely, fed up—for now. 

“Not until episode four,” Sougo said, sitting up straight in his seat, attentive. 

“Then why are we watching it now?” 

“We have to understand the plot to fully appreciate Yuki-san’s character, after all…” 

And just like that, the common room gradually returned to the volume it had been before a woman’s unrequited love was broadcasted over live television, Yamato wincing as everyone’s questions and conversation started directing towards him and his time with Yuki on the set of their own drama. Mitsuki joined in the ribbing and interrogation, plopping down between Yamato and Nagi on the couch, who made room for him.  
It was warm there, lively, and by the time Mitsuki was tucked into bed and closing his eyes later, he’d do so at ease and looking forward to tomorrow, but in that moment a strange, strange pang of sympathy lingered, in the form of a phantom tickle in his throat, and earthy, bitter taste of flowers on the back of his tongue.  


He took a long drink from his beer to wash it down, and angled himself away from the press of Nagi’s arm against his side. 

****

There were no flowers for him.

Mitsuki didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t get piles and piles of them like Riku and Tamaki, but usually there were at least one or two bouquets, especially when he started a new role. Magi☆Cocona was popular enough he thought he might get more from this voice acting job, but it wasn’t anything to get that bent out of shape over. The whole studio seemed to be exceptionally hectic that day, so maybe they got lost in the shuffle, somehow. He’d just ask their manager when she came by with the car to pick him up. 

He covered a yawn as he went to get a water bottle from one of the staff members in the hall. It had been a long day already, and they still had filming for a show later that night. Maybe he should ask for tea and honey instead, for the caffeine, but before he could properly decide, he heard his name being called right behind him, exuberant and bright and familiar, same as the companionable arm flung around his shoulder a second later. 

“Miiiitsuki!” 

“Momo-san!” He beamed, and Momo returned the grin in kind. “I didn’t hear anything about Re:vale being at this studio today. What’re you here for?” 

“It’s just me, not Yuki! I was asked to voice a few lines for a secret character in a video game. If it gets super popular, I’ll probably have a full role in a sequel, so you better buy it and play it, okay?” 

“Are you sure you’re not in the marketing department?” Mitsuki laughed. “But I’m glad we ran into each other. It’s good to see you!” 

“You too, you too! A director told me you were here so I definitely had to come say hi. Are you on break or all finished?” 

“I’m done for now.” 

“I’m between recordings, let’s talk for a bit!” It wasn’t framed as a question, but Mitsuki still nodded and Momo flagged down a passing staff member to ask politely for something to drink. She must have been new, because she scrambled to fulfill the request, and Mitsuki felt a hint of nostalgia for the time when they’d first met and he’d been utterly starstruck by Momo. Not that the feeling wasn’t still there, a little bit, because Momo was both an incredible talent and incredible person, but after seeing and cleaning out the inside of his freezer, Mitsuki’s idol worship would never reach the same nervous intensity ever again. It was better that way; he liked being friends, liked knowing Momo as more than a fan. 

Water bottles in hand, Momo steered them towards a break rooms and sat down opposite Mitsuki at one of the tables. He’d moved onto chattering about Yuki’s current job, leaving Mitsuki room to let his thoughts wander a bit as he twisted open the cap, his eye drawn to two staff members nearly colliding with each other in the hallway behind Momo. Immediately, they rushed off again, without even an apology to each other. 

“Mitsuki? You okay?” Momo asked, tilting his head to the side. “You’re so quiet! That’s not like you at all! If you’re too tired, you should say so. It’d make me a terrible senpai if I didn’t let you rest, you know?” 

“I’m okay, it’s just…Momo-san, do you know why this place seems so busy today? It’s kinda weird.” 

“Busy?” He echoed the word, blankly, before he snapped his fingers in realization. “Oh! I think it might be because of what happened last week. Katoaka Mieko and those flowers. Since that was live, a bunch of studios and production companies are taking a lot of precautions to not let the disease spread now. It caused a lot of problems for the filming of the movie, I heard, and there’s all sorts of rumors. The staff is probably running interference to keep gifts and things from reaching us.”

“Is that why I didn’t get any congratulatory flowers today?” Mitsuki said.

“Probably. But it’s kinda just for show, since the incubation period is something like six months, I think. You can get the symptoms any time during that. Besides, there’s a ton of gossip about people spreading around infected flowers! Fans trying to see if their favorite idol or actor actually loved anyone, managers doing it to force their talent to get the surgery to stop possible scandals, rivals making the other too sick to take on certain roles…” Momo ticked them off one by one on his fingers, before looking up at Mitsuki. “It’s pretty scary. You and the rest of IDOLiSH7 should be careful.” 

“I don’t think we have to worry about something like that.” Even as he said it, the justification seemed weak, sounded like he was avoiding what Momo was truly saying. Katoaka Mieko probably thought the same thing, at some point. That much was obvious.

“It’d be pretty hard to hide something like that from six other people and your managers, probably! Especially Ban-san.” Laughing, Momo spun the cap to his water bottle, around and around on the table. “But, still, it’s easier to avoid the flowers than it is falling in love. That’s the kind of thing that just happens! You can’t help it!” 

“Yeah. That’s why I felt bad for her,” Mitsuki murmured, and remembered the way her shoulders had shook with every cough, how small she suddenly looked under the glare of those lights and the cameras. “How’s she doing, by the way?” 

“Well, the official statement is that she’s recovering and filming will resume next month, but…” He leaned over the table, conspiratorially. “Momo-chan’s database says she’s being really stubborn about getting the surgery. I dunno if she wants to confess and her company’s not having it, or she just doesn’t want the feelings to vanish. Either way, she’s refusing.” 

“If she couldn’t stop it when she was on TV, isn’t it at a super dangerous point now?” 

“If you’re about to lose something that means the world to you, you get really desperate, I guess.” Mitsuki didn’t know if he’d imagined it or not, but he thought, for just a second, there was a pinch to Momo’s smile, before it smoothed out into something more relaxed, conversational. “Who knows for sure! We’re not her.” 

“No, we’re not.” Mitsuki sipped his water, and although it soothed his throat, it didn’t quell the little prickling pang of sympathy that stuck him ever since that night. 

“But this is way, way too heavy a subject! I wanna put it down.” Momo shook himself, arms loose at his sides, like an athlete did to limber up before stepping onto a field or court. “Mitsuki, you’re here for your role on Magi☆Cocona, right? Nagi’s a fan, isn’t he? When your episodes come out, let’s have a big watch party together!” 

“Sure.” Mitsuki was certain Nagi already had a countdown going, and he wondered if Nagi would hunt down merchandise of his character as fervently as he did Cocona herself, wait in lines for it, buy excessive amounts of ice cream for keychains, spend too much in lotteries for goods. The thought should get him to laugh, make Momo ask him what’s so funny, but instead all he felt was jittery. That wasn’t the sort of boost he’d wanted at all. 

“Yay! I’ll bring Yuki along too. I don’t think he’s really into anime, but he’ll want to see Yamato.”

“If I mention you’ll both be coming, he’ll probably stay at a bar all night.” 

“What? I thought they got along now after he stayed at Yuki’s place…just make it a surprise, then.” 

“You’re bulling Yamato a little here! Is Yuki-san rubbing off on you?” 

At least Momo provided a distraction simply by existing, the type of presence that was easy to get caught up in, and by the time Mitsuki had to say his goodbyes he felt more settled, calmed by the now-familiar back and forth he had with Momo as a fellow MC. It lasted through a successful filming, lasted through nighttime routines with everyone at the dorm, lasted until he was in bed, staring up at the dim shape of his ceiling. Despite the weight of a long, long day bearing down on him, he couldn’t manage to relax. He closed his eyes, breathed deep and even, but nothing worked. It was as if he was too buoyant to sink into sleep, floating on the surface of it but never dipping under. Usually that happened when he was especially worried about Riku, some part of his brain always attuned to listening for any gasps or indicators he was having trouble breathing, but the other had only coughed a few times in the past hour, and had fallen silent since. So what the hell _was_ he worried about? 

Frustrated, Mitsuki threw off his blankets and stood, heading out of his room and into the hallway. Yamato’s light was the only one still shining out from under his door, but he was probably going over lines at this hour, and Mitsuki didn’t want to interrupt. Instead, he padded down the stairs as quietly as he could manage, noticing that there was still a light on in the kitchen. His first thought was Tamaki accidentally left it on again, but once he reached the first floor, he spotted Nagi leaning back against the counter, holding a glass of water that was already two-thirds empty, the leftover ice nearly reaching the rim. His hair, washed clean of product for the night, hung soft and loose down the curve of his face. It hid his expression from Mitsuki’s view, and in the instant between when he stepped onto the landing and moved into the kitchen, Nagi’s profile looked so atypically forlorn that Mitsuki’s blood ran cold with concern. It was all for nothing in the end, his imagination or the way the shadows cast, because when he shuffled closer, Nagi looked up and Mitsuki was greeted with a smile as bright as any other. 

“Oh no, have I caught you sleepwalking?” 

“Not a chance!” Mitsuki brushed past him to get to the fridge, and even if he never complained about the size of their dorm before, he suddenly wished that at least the kitchen was bigger so he didn’t have to feel Nagi laugh as much as hear it as he went by. “I couldn’t sleep so I came to get something to drink. That warm milk and honey Iori always makes seems to work for Riku…what are you still doing up anyway?” 

“I’m afraid I got caught up in discussing the merits and possibilities of a Cocona live stage this year. Before I knew it, it was this late already.” 

“Idiot.” On his way to reach into the cabinet for the honey and a mug, he pinched Nagi’s cheek, unmoved by the other’s protesting whine of _Mitsuki_. “You better be okay for work tomorrow.” 

“I will be fine. _Don’t worry_.” Except for Mitsuki’s disbelieving huff, they both lapsed into comfortable silence, until Mitsuki was pulling out a warm mug of milk from the microwave, stirring honey in, and Nagi was shifting along the counter so there was only a companionable distance between them. “Is something worrying keeping you awake? I’m always here to listen, if so.” 

“No, nothing like that.” It wasn’t a lie, was it, if he couldn’t put his finger on what might be distressing him? He couldn’t tell Nagi if he didn’t know in the first place. But there had been something he’d wanted to speak to Nagi about, ever since that night with them all gathered around the TV a week ago. “I guess I was just thinking too much…hey, were people at your job today talking about Katoaka Mieko?” 

“Yes. It was _all_ they were talking about at the photoshoot. I asked if she was all right, but no one seemed to know for certain. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering, since it was like that for my work too.” Mitsuki sipped his drink, wanting to leave it at that, but although the silence between them was patient, Nagi was watching him with an innocently inquisitive stare that didn’t actually have a single ounce of innocence in it at all. It was the same look he used on Yamato when the other was being evasive. “By the way, I ran into Momo-san there today, and he said he heard from his network that she’s doing okay.” 

“What good news!” Nagi said, bright and genuine in his relief. “Mr.Momo’s database really can find anything out.” 

“…well, good _for now_ ,” Mitsuki amended. “She’s refusing the surgery, he said.” 

“ _Oh_. I hope she changes her mind. This disease exists back home, too, and people have perished from it.” He sighed, shoulders slumping a little, and Mitsuki wanted to ask if it had ever been someone Nagi knew personally. But the other never seemed to like to talk about his homeland that deeply, and the topic was heavy enough without adding that weight onto it. “Better yet, I hope she resolves it. It would be nice if everyone could be happy.” 

“It would be.” Mitsuki glanced down into his mug, remembering all those flowers, remembering the way the staff at the recording studio hadn’t let a single blossom reach anyone, and wondered if the next thing they’d hear online or in the tabloids was about Katoaka Mieko’s death. “Nagi. What would you do? If you had the disease.” 

“If it was me?” His laughter was soft, and a little wry, like he was baffled Mitsuki would ask him such a thing, but when Mitsuki met Nagi’s gaze, sharply, ready to defend himself if the other thought the question too silly to entertain, there was nothing amused in his expression. His eyes were dark in the low light of the kitchen, none of the blue reaching through, and Mitsuki, strangely, felt like he might be dreaming. “If I wasn’t sure the other person loved me, I would get them to fall for me, and confess. If I am rejected...there is no choice but the surgery at that point, is there? There’s so much I love that I must continue to live for. But—but I can’t say I don’t understand Katoaka-chan’s decision, too.” 

“You do?” 

“Mm. Mitsuki must understand it as well, right?” Nagi smiled, gently. “Something you love, a dream, that is so dear, to part from it would cause unimaginable pain.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Those days that had seemed so long ago when he put everything he had into becoming an idol, when the rejections kept piling up, when it felt like all he was doing was running into a wall over and over and over again. And days more recent, when he wondered if, after becoming an idol, was it all for nothing if he couldn’t make anyone, the fans or the rest of IDOLiSH7, happy. “Yeah, I understand.” 

“I’m sorry. It seems like I took our conversation somewhere sad. That’s not good at all for getting you relaxed to sleep.” 

“Don’t apologize. I asked the question.” But Nagi had a point about getting to bed, and Mitsuki took another swig of milk, wanting to finish most of the mug before it cooled off completely. 

“Still…” Mitsuki nearly started as he felt a touch to his arm, Nagi’s fingers chilled from where he was holding his glass. “Whatever has got you up so late, I promise it will turn out okay. I’m glad you are back, so if there’s another problem, you don’t have to leave to fix it this time.” 

“You guys really missed us, huh?” Mitsuki laughed, unsure if that was something he should be so glad over. He didn’t enjoy upsetting everyone, but it was nice to be reminded of his place here, that he was wanted exactly where he was. By everyone. By Nagi. 

“Of course I did.” Nagi’s grip tightened against his arm, and while Mitsuki was used to his exuberance, there was something different this time, much less enthusiasm and far more of something Mitsuki couldn’t put a name to. “I missed you a lot, Mitsuki.” 

“Sorry, sorry! For being gone so long. It worked out, though, didn’t it?” He smiled, hoped it was reassuring enough to smooth away the concern pinching Nagi’s features. Upon returning, he’d heard complaints from Riku and Tamaki that nothing they did managed to cheer Nagi up, least of all their less-than-amateur culinary skills. Mitsuki had remedied that in an instant, but had he really not mentioned what happened when he and Yamato and Iori left, spoken about it at all, until now? “It was fun being at Momo-san’s for a while, but I’m glad to be back, too. Were you worried?” 

“Worried…? Maybe that’s it. I stayed up too late then, as well.” Before Mitsuki could ask what he meant by that, Nagi finally let go of his arm to cover a yawn with the back of his hand. “ _Excuse me_.” 

“Okay, that’s a sign it’s time for bed. Let’s go. ” Mitsuki left his mug on the counter, thinking he’d take care of everyone’s breakfast dishes tomorrow in exchange, and prodded at Nagi until he turned around, shuffling out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Even though his room was right next to Mitsuki’s and he didn’t have far to go at all, Nagi didn’t budge an inch when they reached the second landing. Instead, he tugged Mitsuki over to him in a hug, gentle and affectionate, the kind he gave everyone before bed. Mitsuki’s heart still lurched. “Hey! You already gave me your goodnight hug earlier.” 

“I know! But this is a second goodnight.” Briefly, he squeezed, a short burst of pressure and a warm, warm hand between Mitsuki’s shoulder blades before Nagi released him and stepped back, to stand at his own door. “ _Sweet dreams,_ Mitsuki.” 

“Yeah. Goodnight, Nagi.” 

Afterwards, when he lay in bed, unable to find the slightest hint of sleep with the imprint of Nagi’s arms still around him, he thought with more than a little wryness, that maybe the milk and honey was only a magic cure for Riku, and Riku alone. 

****

For some reason, Nagi was everywhere in the city. Mitsuki knew he got a lot of modeling contracts, especially recently, but it was starting to seem like every time he stepped out of a job, or to headed to a bar with Sougo and Yamato, or even simply took a walk down the street to the convenience store, he spotted another ad. Or maybe he was just hyperaware of them, since no one else seemed to comment, except about the huge one over the shopping center, the one of Nagi reclining messily on a black couch, one knee bent and one arm thrown across the back, the sapphire blue of his shirt making his eyes pop. When Nagi had complained about never getting jobs for more traditional Japanese wear, Mitsuki recalled Nagi’s long, long legs covered in the jeans the ad was for, and thought _that’d be a total waste to hide_ , echoed a moment later by Yamato, who’d muttered, almost sullenly, “Nagi, you don’t get it at all.” 

The newest one was near the station. A pretty woman in a pretty pink dress and pretty pink shoes leaned up on tiptoe to kiss Nagi’s cheek, who already had pretty pink kiss prints at the corner of his mouth and collar. Long-wear lipstick, that promised to look perfect the whole date and then some. Mitsuki shouldn’t feel anything at all about it, except maybe a little happy there was a circle of fans taking photos and excitedly chatting about buying new makeup, but something hot pounded at his temples and behind his eyes, anyway. It could just be the start of an exhaustion headache; he’d been worn down all week, on the cusp of coming down with something, no matter how much sleep he’d had. 

He was quietly grateful for no response when he walked into the dorm and announced he was home. Either everyone was holed up in their rooms or they were out somewhere. That might leave him time to take a nap before anyone else returned or sought him out to ask if he was making dinner that night. While he could put up with being fussed over, really, he was in such a bad mood on top of feeling ill that he didn’t know how to explain that away. 

What was wrong with him? Mitsuki had been on interference duty at every afterparty for Nagi flirting too much with girls, and it had never bothered him then. He’d dealt with Nagi’s eternal adoration for Cocona, Trigger’s effusive compliments of his looks, all without blinking. Nagi loved so much and so generously, and Mitsuki loved that _about_ him, so why now? Why feel bad over something so small? Why feel bad over the idea of Nagi giving something more, something hotter, something different, to someone specific? Why feel bad over never, ever knowing what being that someone was like—

Mitsuki’s throat seized, tightening in a spasm, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be sick or choke, but he stumbled into his bathroom and bent over the toilet either way. Once the coughing began, he couldn’t stop, lungs heaving until he was left gasping, holding himself upright with one hand on the counter. He knew they were roses before he wiped the tears from his eyes to look properly, the stringent taste thick on the back of his tongue, familiar but undiluted, no sugar and water to mask the bitterness, unlike the jelly they served in the summertime back at his parents’ shop. Thankfully, they were thornless, just the blooms and the hips, but Mitsuki wasn’t sure he should be grateful for anything with a flurry of yellow petals floating in the toilet water. 

He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and tried to breathe. He was stupid. He was so incredibly stupid to allow himself to get this, to succumb to it, but the very moment that thought crossed his mind, he heard Momo’s voice in his head saying _that’s the kind of thing just happens!_ But it wasn’t the kind of thing that happened to _him_ , his life couldn’t be the kind of dramas Sougo and Kujo Tenn got cast in, the beautiful and forlorn figure surrounded by blood red camellia flowers as they tragically perished for love. He wasn’t that person, and he wouldn’t let it _just happen_. 

The resolve to march right on over to their manager and tell her to make an appointment with the hospital held all the way through flushing away the petals, through rinsing his mouth out, but when Mitsuki raised his head and looked at himself in the mirror, complexion ashen and expression tense, he thought of how Nagi would take one look at him, tell everyone to order takeout, and shamelessly offer his lap as the best pillow in the dorm. He wavered. He thought of Nagi crying over anime, Nagi delighted and carefree when goofing around with Tamaki and Riku, Nagi composed and amazing and a perfect, brilliant shield for IDOLiSH7 front of all those reporters. Nagi and the exhilarating, irreplaceable feeling of being together, under the stagelights and the thrum of the music and the crowd’s cheers. Nagi, saying so seriously, so sincerely, that he was Mitsuki’s fan, too. 

He wasn’t strong enough to let go without even trying, was he? 

A quick internet search told him it took anywhere from one to three months for symptoms to get dangerous and difficult to handle, less time if one was in close or frequent contact with the object of their unrequited feelings. Three weeks to be safe, then. If he hit the deadline without confessing, he’d tell their manager. Sooner if he managed to say something to Nagi and got rejected. 

And, because curiosity got the better of him, he input “yellow roses flower meaning” into the searchbar afterwards. Western interpretations said they represented friendship and joy, while hanakotoba pointed, aptly, to both jealousy and nobility. A little cruel the disease distilled its host’s feelings into something so fitting, so tangibly a reminder of who caused the illness to bloom in the first place. 

Strangely, after expelling the flowers, the exhaustion and malaise had lifted a bit. Just in time, since he heard the voices carrying up the stairs—judging from the back and forth between a reproving snap and irritated grumbling, Iori and Tamaki were back from school. More than anyone, this was going to be tough to keep a secret from Iori, in no small part because Mitsuki didn’t really _want_ to. But Iori would worry, and convince Mitsuki not to wait another second to get the surgery, but if these were his own emotions causing him problems, then Mitsuki thought he at least needed to deal with them himself. Iori would understand and forgive him in the end, he hoped. 

For now, he took a breath, attempting to seize the instant of calm that appeared just before a performance began, and opened his bedroom door to head down the stairs, welcoming his groupmate and younger brother home. 

*****

Nothing changed. Or, not much, at least. Maybe Mitsuki was now aware of things like watching the way a bead of sweat traveled down Nagi’s jawline and neck after dance practice, and maybe he wasn’t as at ease with Nagi’s usual casual touching because it made him short of breath with rose blossoms closing up his throat, but it was manageable. The flowers were mostly a problem when there was group work, or in the evenings when they’d spend free time together. Once, and only once, the morning was the worst, when Mitsuki woke to snatches of a dream where hot hands and a hotter mouth traveled from his neck to his hips to his thighs and he had his fingers buried in spun-gold hair, as brilliantly, boldly yellow as the flowers he spat up as quietly as possible over the side of his bed. Later, on the couch, when Nagi was sitting on the floor at his feet to look over at Riku fiddling with a new game on his phone, he had to sit on his hands so they wouldn’t itch to touch, to see if it was as soft as his dreams had conjured. He’d touched Nagi’s hair before, of course, but had he ever really concentrated on the sensation, in the new context the world had taken on when Mitsuki realized he was in love? 

He dealt with it. He timed his bathroom breaks. He drank a lot of water and tea and honey and sucked on a lot of cough drops. No one was the wiser, or if they were, they hadn’t said a word to him, so he could only assume he was successfully sweeping everything under the rug. Yet, a week had already passed and he wasn’t any closer to speaking to Nagi about it. He knew he should just ask to talk about something serious the next time Nagi commandeered his room to read fan letters or watch Cocona, but every time it happened, both the words and roses would get caught in his throat and he ended up saying nothing at all. Since the surgery only ever took away the romantic love, they’d still be friends at the end of it all, but Mitsuki desperately, selfishly, wanted those emotions, those moments, to remain as long as possible. So he kept his mouth shut, swallowed back the petals, and stole the remote from Nagi to change the channel. 

No matter how well he managed to hide it, nothing changed the fact he was genuinely sick, and that still took its toll. It hit the worst coming after a workday had lasted long into the evening, and Mitsuki emerged from the studio, aching and exhausted, to the stars starting to peek out of the darkening sky. It was so late, their manager told him over rabichat that MEZZO had already finished and Banri was swinging by to pick him up. At that point, Mitsuki didn’t care if they’d given the keys to Tamaki and told him good luck, so long as he eventually arrived at the dorm and his bed. 

When the car arrived, he blearily opened the rear door, wondering if he could talk Banri into letting him lie down and nap once they got onto residential streets, but one of the seats was already occupied. By Nagi, who gave him a wave, before putting a finger to his lips. 

“Hello, Mitsuki. Yamato is asleep in the front, so be as quiet as possible, okay? Something tells me he’ll be very grumpy if we wake him.” 

“Long day for all of us, huh?” As Mitsuki slipped inside and did up his seatbelt, he spotted the back of Yamato’s head lolling against the headrest, and Banri mouthing _Good work today!_ at him via the rearview mirror, before the car pulled out onto the street. 

“ _Oh_ , the director and photographers were demons.” Nagi sighed, overwrought as usual, but when Mitsuki actually _looked_ , the bridge of Nagi’s nose furrowed, and the ends of his hair were haphazardly feathered, like he’d run his hands through it, mussing it unintentionally. Signs of real stress. “They’d take one shot, and the lighting wasn’t right, or my arm wasn’t the right angle, or the other model’s hair wasn’t draped the right way…they told me I looked dull once. Me, Mitsuki! It was awful.” 

“What happened to being quiet for Yamato?” Mitsuki chided, but he let Nagi lean against him, pitifully. His airways constricted over just that much, but it would be worse to see the disappointment crease Nagi’s features if he pulled away, worse not to offer a little comfort when Nagi was so obviously worn out. “But it’ll just prove him right if you waste your good looks being mopey like that.” 

“I’m not moping.” His tone told a different story. “I’m just tired…and so are you, by the looks of it.” 

“I’m sorry some of us can’t practically sparkle on command!” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Laughing, Nagi gently prodded Mitsuki’s cheek, first at the corner of his mouth, then just under his eye, and petals kissed the back of Mitsuki’s throat. “You are always lovely. But you don’t seem like your usual self right now. Did you have a bad day?” 

“No. Just a long one.” So long Mitsuki didn’t even have it in him to tell Nagi not to call a guy _lovely_. 

“I see. Then you should rest.” Nagi nodded, decisively, as if he could decide for Mitsuki himself. “We’re still a ways from the dorm, why not take a nap? My lap would be awkward in the car, so how about my shoulder?” 

“Stop offering your lap every time! And what about you?” Mitsuki countered. He didn’t object on principle, because he _was_ dead on his feet, and the prospect of pillowing his head on Nagi’s shoulder was so tempting, he had to grip the edge of his seat to stop himself from leaning forward already, but he’d like a moment to brace himself all the same. The sudden instances, the things Nagi did that caught him off guard, like hearing his delighted laughter from another room that turned buds to flowers in Mitsuki’s lungs, caused the worst flare-ups. “Manager says we can always ask her if we need a break. Take one.” 

“Hm. You make a good point. I think I will, but—” He turned his smile on Mitsuki, winning and honey-sweet, and a _yes_ had already formed in his thoughts before Nagi even made his stipulation. It wasn’t fair in the least. “—only if you take a day off, too.” 

“I shouldn’t reward you for blackmail—”

“It’s not!” 

“I _shouldn’t_.” Letting Nagi effectively hold himself hostage set a bad precedent, and Mitsuki didn’t like him doing it at _all_ , but…but Mitsuki could use a breather. It took all his effort to keep a handle on the disease to hide it. It would be enough if he had a day where, at the very least, he didn’t have to worry about it happening in front of dozens of strangers, or even worse, becoming Katoaka Mieko 2.0 and having roses spill out of him on live TV. Besides, if he said no and meant it, Nagi would listen. When Mitsuki was genuinely serious, he always did. “But…okay. I’ll talk to her tomorrow about it.” 

“And I’ll do the same.” Nagi’s smile gentled into something a little less persuasive but made Mitsuki’s heart clench a good deal more. “I don’t mean to be cruel. I just want you to take care of yourself as well as you do others, Mitsuki.”

“Take your own advice, Nagi.” 

“Do you think I’m not taking care of myself?”

“I’m saying, you probably didn’t think about a day off until you realized it was a way to get me to do it, too.” 

“Ah—” Nagi laughed, quiet and breathless, like he was surprised. “I can’t ever win against you, can I?” 

“Don’t try.” As was his due as a victory prize, Mitsuki finally settled his head against Nagi’s shoulder, and closed his eyes. “Don’t move, either.” 

“Mm-hmm.” Except for the gentle rise and fall of him breathing, Nagi was still. “Would you like a lullaby as well?” 

“Just as long as it’s not the Cocona theme again.” 

“That would be a _wonderful_ lullaby, so it is your loss.” 

At first, in the silence that followed, Mitsuki thought the offer might have been a joke the whole time, but slowly, the first hummed notes of “Moonlight Illuminate” in Nagi’s voice filtered through the traffic noise to reach him. Nagi was warm pressed against his side, and smelled nice, something sweetly herbal from his hair product and soft, woody cologne. The sensations should have him scrambling away to cover his mouth before he choked on the flowers crawling up his windpipe, but he was so tired. Banri drove smoothly, no sudden stops to jerk him awake, and Nagi’s low, soothing singing dragged him deeper and deeper into sleep, on the cusp of it before he could even clear his throat. 

The last thing he remembered was a gentle pressure against his temple. A touch and it was gone, just as he was awake, and then easily, blissfully drifting off.

*****

The dorm had been still for hours. Which, should have been incredibly suspicious because in a building that housed seven people, there should never be long stretches of utter peace and quiet in daylight hours, but Mitsuki had just assumed everyone was out, at a job, or—in Nagi’s case, likely—binging on anime. No matter how suspect, Mitsuki was going to enjoy the calm for as long as it lasted and relax on his day off, especially since he didn’t end up offering to help his parents out at the shop, either. 

But the weather was clear and breezy and lovely, and it seemed like a total waste to spend the whole day cooped up indoors. He could take a walk, enjoy the sun, and give himself room to think, since his self-imposed deadline was looming closer. He needed to figure out what to do, even if that meant berating himself for being so damn cowardly about it until he marched up to Nagi and blurted out how he felt.

As if sensing his thoughts, Mitsuki heard footsteps tramping down the stairs, and Nagi appeared before him, hair tucked beneath a brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses in-hand. The universe itself presenting him a chance, and he was too stunned by the sudden presence of the person who’d been on his mind the whole morning to reply. 

“Mitsuki!” Nagi’s exuberance did not help. “It’s a wonderful day! Come out with me!”

“I’m not going to—”

“Not Akiba.” The interjection was swift, and sincere, and Mitsuki was thrown for another loop, but Nagi barreled on anyway. “The model I worked with before, she was complaining to me about that director we had to work with, and she told me whenever she had a truly awful shoot, she’d treat herself at this dessert shop. Very good. _Very_ discreet. You like getting new recipe ideas from places like that, right?” 

“Sure,” Mitsuki said, slowly. He wasn’t sure he was prepared for where this was going. 

“So let’s go there! Apparently, they have an entirely seasonal menu.” 

“Nagi, I…” 

“Please?” He pressed his palms together, imploring, and Mitsuki felt his already mile-wide soft spot for Nagi bow under the pressure. “We’ve both been so busy. I want to relax and have fun with you. Did you have other plans?” 

“No. I don’t.” Mitsuki’s shoulders slumped in defeat. There wasn’t a reason to punish Nagi when he was trying to be kind. He didn’t need to bear the burden of Mitsuki’s problems. Besides, maybe by the end of this Mitsuki could finally come clean, indulge in one last day of everything being as it always had been, before he upturned it all. Resolve mustered, he managed a smile. “Nothing besides a nap, but I could take one later. Let me get ready and I’ll go.” 

“Really?” That bright smile made Mitsuki’s acceptance worth it, even if it also came with the itch of petals in the back of his throat. 

“Really! Gimme five minutes.” Just enough time to put something on his head and face that would make him unrecognizable at a glance. It wasn’t as if he needed to change into something special. They weren’t going on a date. 

He didn’t manage to swallow back either the twinge in his heart or the roses, and he only hoped Nagi was waiting closer to the door than the bottom of the stairs so he didn’t hear Mitsuki coughing. It was strange—horribly, terribly strange to look at the petals floating in the water, same as they had the first time, and wonder how many more were left. How many more moments, how many more surges of love or jealousy or misery to cause the plant to grow and flower remained? 

Wiping his mouth, Mitsuki flushed the toilet and took a heavy, hitched breath. He’d get through today. 

Nagi, thankfully unaware anything could be amiss, chattered animatedly as usual as they made their way to the shop. The familiarity, of Nagi’s excitement, of having to steer the conversation away from the rabbit hole that was the topic of Cocona, grounded Mitsuki enough he started to relax, drop by drop. By the time they were seated at the café, a cozy place with warm wooded-furniture and watercolor paintings on the wall, he was laughing, able to reach over to make Nagi’s hat hair worse. Unfairly, he still looked pleasantly windswept instead of a mess, especially with the sunglasses he hadn’t taken off yet, but it was something Mitsuki could enjoy for an instant without consequence. 

He should have been more worried about keeping their identities under wraps, but neither the worker that greeted them, nor the one that took their orders, nor any of the other customers reacted to them even if they were recognized. Nagi’s model coworker had not been kidding about the place being discreet. Or about the menu. Mitsuki wanted to avoid anything floral, since his current poor association with the taste would ruin the dessert, but the remnants after the initial elimination round all sounded equally mouthwatering. 

“There’s no rule that says we have to order only one thing each,” Nagi pointed out, winking over his menu. 

“It _would_ be a shame to miss out if we can’t come back until the summer…” Hardly a bulletproof justification, but Mitsuki didn’t care. Besides, he couldn’t remember what regret even felt like when they finally ordered and their food came around to the table. Lemon honey chiffon cake, toasted almond pancakes with coconut ice cream, lime and honeydew mousse, and a towering strawberry parfait that was a dream of fresh fruit, whipped cream, jelly, and popping boba. Even the coffee they’d gotten to cut the sweetness was perfect, aromatic and bright. Unprompted, they both dug in, uncaring if they took bites from something on the other’s side of the table. It all had to get eaten one way or another. 

But it wasn’t until Mitsuki was determinedly trying to discern what the undertones to the mousse were—rosemary?—that he noticed Nagi had stopped eating, and was smiling at him, soft and quiet, over the rim of his mug. 

“You look happy,” he said. 

“Of course I do, this is delicious!” Mitsuki replied, taking another bite. Yep, definitely rosemary. 

“That’s not what I meant. Maybe I was seeing things, but you had seemed a little…not yourself, recently. But you’re _very_ much the Mitsuki I know right now.” 

“And just what do you mean by that? I’m not a glutton like _some_ people we know.” Mitsuki jabbed his spoon in Nagi’s direction, who only laughed in response. 

“Just that I’m glad.” He finally scooped up another forkful of pancake and ice cream, thoughtful as he chewed. “Even if you were just tired from work, I still like it better when you’re energetic.” 

“I—” Mitsuki couldn’t fathom just how Yamato had done it for so long, how he didn’t just blurt out everything he’d buried, how he resisted the urge to unburden himself. Everyone, all of IDOLiSH7 was attentive and kind, and in the face of Nagi’s concern now, Mitsuki had to bite his lip to keep the words from spilling out of him in a rush. Like the flowers. He took a breath, deep and full, to keep them at bay. He couldn’t ruin this, the happiness and ease of this day. Not now, at least. “There is something, honestly. But I’m…working on it.” 

“Working on it?” 

“It’s something I absolutely, one-hundred percent have to do myself. So I don’t need advice or help or anything. But I’ll tell you about it when I can. Okay? If I don’t say something by…” When was the best time, one that wouldn’t throw a wrench into a performance or something important? “…after the next time we’re on Re:Vale’s program in a couple days. If not by then, you can—”

“ _Okay_ ,” Nagi interjected. His tone was quiet, firm, and Mitsuki felt like Nagi would be laying one hand over his own if there weren’t so many dishes and cups in the way. “Take however much time you need…are you sure it’s not something that can be helped?” 

“I’m sure. But you don’t have to baby me! I promise by then I’ll say something. Hold me to it.” 

“I will.” He paused to scoop out a mouthful of whipped cream and jelly from the parfait glass, and Mitsuki frowned, faintly, because while the gesture was innocuous, careless, Nagi’s expression was not. Like the wind in the trees outside, there was a disturbance, a little rustle of wistfulness, before it smoothed over into placidity again as Nagi swiped the last of the cream off his spoon. “A promise then.” 

“A promise,” Mitsuki echoed, nodding. There was no backing out now, was there? But he resolved not to think about it until after they were back home and he could shut himself in his room. Maybe no one would bother him if he pretended to be sleeping, and he could actually think. For now, he was still with Nagi, still determined to enjoy whatever time was left with this kind of ease between them. He moved on to the chiffon cake. “Mm. You know, next time we should bring Tamaki here with us…” 

Letting himself forget was easier than Mitsuki thought it would be, but being with Nagi was a sweetness that tended to linger, just like the remnants of candied lemon peel and strawberries still on his tongue on the walk home. Partway back, before they even reached the station, Nagi tugged on his sleeve and gave him an imploring smile. 

“Let’s take a detour,” he said, and Mitsuki was curious enough, reluctant enough to leave the fine weather, that he followed without complaint. 

The sky had just begun to pink when they reached the path leading past Zero Arena in the distance, the light of the sinking sun glimmering off the water and the dome of the building both. Nagi hummed, something that sounded like “Restart Pointer,” and stepped backwards, smoothly in rhythm. 

“I’m not dancing with you,” Mitsuki said, immediately. 

“You’re not being fun at all. Where’s your sense of spontaneity, Mitsuki?” Nagi sighed and pouted, but didn’t do anything like reach for Mitsuki’s hands to pull him into a spin, and instead turned to fold his arms on the railing and look off towards the arena. “I want to sing there again. Don’t you?” 

“Yeah. It’s incredible on that stage.” That massive, sparkling expanse and the rainbow array of penlights in a sea before all of them. Sometimes, Mitsuki didn’t think it was real, when before, in a spot probably not far from where he and Nagi were standing, they were mired in despair, wondering if even just debuting was too far to reach, too much to ask for.

Mitsuki hadn’t thought much about when it started, but maybe, maybe it was that night, when Nagi had, singlehandedly, lifted them all onto their feet again. Maybe it was then the seed was planted that would grow vines and buds and flowers to bloom when all his feelings of _Nagi, I want to make you smile too_ finally overflowed.

“It is. I won’t ever forget that feeling.” He took off his hat, followed by his sunglasses, and held them loosely at his side in one hand. Mitsuki could only be thankful that the pathway was unpopulated this time of day and when there weren’t concerts going on, because anyone could recognize Nagi in an instant. But all mundane, rational thoughts about snapping at Nagi to put them back on dissolved immediately into smoke when he turned to Mitsuki, lips parted on a word he couldn’t seem to expel. Didn’t Nagi always, _always_ know the right thing to say when it mattered most?

He waited, in the sound of the trickle of water beyond the railing, in the muffled traffic in the distance, for Nagi to speak, but instead, Nagi reached out and wordlessly, carefully, gripped Mitsuki’s chin, his thumb pressed right under Mitsuki’s bottom lip. His fingers were warm and Mitsuki could now hear nothing but his own pulse hammering and hammering in his ears, an erratic, misplaced beat. No matter how he told himself this was Nagi, who didn’t know the damn concept of personal space, and there was probably just a spot of chocolate or cream he’d wipe off in a second, it did nothing to restrict the roses Mitsuki could feel unfurling their petals at the base of his throat, did nothing to stop him from being dragged in and drowned by the summer sky blue kaleidoscope of Nagi’s eyes. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_ —

“Sorry.” Pulling away, so Nagi was no longer in reach to grab him to keep him in place, Mitsuki put a hand over his mouth in case any petals managed to leak out and stumbled down the first direction his feet took him. He’d apologize to Nagi later, he’d come up with an excuse later, but he needed distance before he hacked up a whole garden on Nagi’s shoes. 

He didn’t know how far he managed to get before he had to stop, bent over with his hands on his knees. His lungs burned, every breath coming out a hoarse, painful wheeze. A little hysterically, Mitsuki wondered if this was how always Riku felt. Coughing brought up a shower of petals that scattered on the wind, spinning up and away, and Mitsuki desperately, desperately hoped the noise he was making didn’t mask the sound of footsteps behind him, that he wouldn’t turn to see Nagi watching one of those bright bits of yellow twirl in the breeze and immediately connect it back to Mitsuki. 

Nagi wasn’t there when he chanced a look over his shoulder, though. Or even when Mitsuki was still trying to catch his breath. It wasn’t until he’d had straightened, and wiped his mouth that Nagi finally came into view. Bizarrely, his accessories were back on, disguise in place. Mitsuki couldn’t put his finger on why it bothered him so much until he realized Nagi wasn’t peeking at him over the rim of his sunglasses the way he always did when they weren’t in a crowd, and Mitsuki couldn’t read his expression at all. Everything was sealed behind the mirrored surface of the lenses. 

“What happened? You ran off all of a sudden.” 

“Sorry again, Nagi. I think I ate too much and it caught up with me? I thought I was going to be sick.” Mitsuki laughed, and if he was lucky, Nagi would write up any breathlessness or wince as something caused by nausea. 

“Let’s get home, then. And don’t worry…” He quirked a smile and something about it was still wrong, wrong, wrong. “I won’t tell Iori.” 

A normal, quipping reply. Nagi chatted in a normal way the rest of the trip home, normally greeted everyone when they got back, and normally endured Tamaki’s sulking over missing out on sweets. By all accounts, Mitsuki had gotten away with it, but when he passed Nagi’s door later, shut and the room beyond still and so quiet, he thought the more likely case was that he had merely been allowed to escape. 

****

He was going to keep his promise. It was the least Mitsuki could do, after he’d made a mess of things, after Nagi probably suspected something already. Even if they’d patched it up, keeping secrets was undoubtedly still a sore spot, and the idea of leaving Nagi to suffer thinking yet another friend was hiding something from him, from all of them, was finally the kick in the ass enough for Mitsuki to steel himself. If what he had to confess was going to hurt enough as-is, he wasn’t going to heap more pain on by dragging it out. 

But Nagi faltered during the performance. 

Mitsuki only caught it out of the corner of his eye, nothing but a slight hitch, a slip. One that Sougo and Yamato covered swiftly and flawlessly, one the audience wouldn’t even notice with all of their attention fixed on Riku and his captivating voice rising sweetly on the final _Sakura…_ It had to just be a mistake; Nagi’s solo moments before had been without fault, and Mitsuki heard him join the final chorus with the rest of them. It had to be.

Only, after countless concerts and practices together, Mitsuki could tell that Nagi was breathing too hard for it just to be exertion, was ashen even under the makeup and the stagelights washing out his complexion. Pulling together every bit of talent he had in him, Mitsuki made the final MC corner as snappy and rapid as he ever had, without any fault from the audience or producers, to get all of them off stage and out of sight of the cameras, to let Nagi sit down and get something to drink. Or medical attention, if it was something dire. Suddenly, the sweat Mitsuki had worked up felt ice cold. 

In the backstage shuffle, he lost sight of Nagi when a staff member stepped in for a greeting, and even if Mitsuki knew that another one of his groupmates would be making sure Nagi was all right, the urgency twisting up his stomach didn’t abate. By the time he reached the dressing room, it was buzzing under his skin, an anxious momentum sending him nearly sliding into the room. 

“Where’s—” Mitsuki felt them before he saw them, a strange sensation under his shoe that, when he looked down, turned out to be layer of flower petals. Thin, long yellow ones, and smaller pieces of darker centers. Sunflowers. The world tilted, a jarring shift so wrenching that when it righted itself, it was still jagged, still grayed at the edges as Mitsuki’s gaze followed the trail of flowers that led to Nagi kneeling on the ground, Yamato crouching next to him on one side, and Tsumugi standing at the other. They were both saying something, frantic, over a horrible, wet retching sound, but Mitsuki’s ears were ringing too loud to make it out. A commotion broke out behind him too, mixed voices and a sharp gasp that Mitsuki recognized immediately as Sougo because he’d sounded the same when Katoaka Mieko had coughed up flowers on live television, Katoaka Mieko who wanted to die for love if the rumors were to be believed, and now Nagi would—

“Nagi!” Riku’s voice, finally, awfully cut through the fog, and Mitsuki jerked towards the noise, already reaching to prevent Riku from taking a single step further inside, a single inch nearer to the flowers that would, on top of his condition, infect and kill him with absolute certainty if the symptoms ever manifested. Almost synchronized, everyone moved with him in the same beat, Sougo and Iori being the two closest enough to get a hand on Riku to restrain him. Even Nagi, still heaving, put an arm up as if on instinct to bar Riku from moving further. 

“ _No_. Tama, get him out of here,” Yamato snapped, and gestured, sharply at the door, with the hand not patting Nagi on the back. 

“Roger.” Wrapping his arms around Riku’s torso, Tamaki started dragging him back out of the room, firm even when Riku started to squirm and struggle. 

“I don’t want to! Nagi’s—” Whatever Riku said was lost in a muffle, of Iori unsubtly shoving his hand over Riku’s mouth.

“I’ll help,” he said, and followed Tamaki out with Riku, using his body to block the view of the stagehands or other performers outside. Until the door closed, the faint murmur of them both trying to calm Riku down— _Rikkun, I know you’re worried, ‘cause I am too, but you can’t get near those flowers; Rokuya-san will be fine, our manager and the others will take care of him, you need to think about your **own** health_ —could be heard over the quieter rasp of Nagi’s labored breathing. 

“Can you stand?” Yamato asked and Nagi nodded, minutely, his shoulders hitching from another cough. “Okay. Up we go.” 

He draped Nagi’s arm over his shoulder, wrapping his own around Nagi’s back and stood, the motion stilted as Yamato strained under the dead weight until Tsumugi helped on the opposite side, and Nagi got his footing. Now that they had moved, Mitsuki noticed for the first time that the petals nearest Nagi’s feet were speckled with blood, and his legs felt that awful, jellied consistency of nightmares, when his body wouldn’t obey his commands to run. Please be dreaming, he begged, silently. Please be dreaming, but the sound of his alarm never came. 

“Manager, let me—” Sougo shifted over to take Tsumugi’s place in supporting Nagi. 

“Thank you. I should…probably make some calls. Nagi-san, a hospital is non-negotiable, but do you need an ambulance?” She leaned closer to him, eyes wide and worried, like she was trying to figure out his answer from just a look, but he shook his head in response instead. 

“If this is for Cocona, I’m dropping you,” Yamato said. Sougo looked vaguely scandalized, and Tsumugi bewildered, but Nagi actually laughed, a high, thready sound with no force behind it, but a laugh all the same.

“It’s not Cocona.” 

“Manager?” 

“Yamato, you’re forcing me to disappoint a beautiful woman.” He smiled at Tsumugi, in a gentle, charming way that meant if he was capable of it, he’d be taking one of her hands in both of his. “Rest assured I still love and cherish our manager, but she is not the cause of this, either. Please stop guessing.” 

“Just checking you’ll live. You’re not dying if you can still flirt.” Yamato lifted his foot as if to take a step before stopping and making a _tsk_ sound with his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Shit, how are we going to drag you out of here without anyone seeing?” 

“I could probably ask, but that might take a while…”

“Momo-san.” Unthinkingly, Mitsuki voiced the single thought that had managed to form in the panicked haze around the rest of his mind. If anyone was able to clear out a whole hallway backstage in an instant, it had to be Re:vale. “I’ll go talk to Momo-san. I won’t say any details, but he could help.” 

He barely waited long enough to hear an _okay_ from Tsumugi before he darted out into the hallway, able to yank himself out of the mire of panic and shock with a task to focus on, something to point his thoughts to that wasn’t Nagi choking on flowers, wasn’t Nagi as sick as Mitsuki—

Oh. That was right. Nagi loved someone. He’d heard Yamato guessing who, he’d understood what the flowers had to mean, but at that point he hadn’t grasped the reality, the true core of it, that Nagi cherished someone with enough intensity, enough desire, to deal with the same pain Mitsuki knew intimately. Halfway to Re:vale’s dressing room, and it hit him, the impact powerful and wrenching enough to launch all the buds into blooming at once. Mitsuki felt like he might burst at the seams, too full and brimming with petals. Gritting his teeth, he adjusted his route down another short hallway to duck into a restroom. 

He choked up a torrent of flowers, more filling in the spaces with each breath he took, tumbling over each other as they fell, pile, higher and higher, until his chest ached with the effort, until they nearly reached the rim of the bowl. But eventually, they slowed to a trickle, and it was when Mitsuki gave one last, quiet cough, spitting a lone petal in with the rest, that he heard someone behind him. 

“Nii-san?!” Mitsuki let his head loll against his arm bent against the back of the toilet to peer at his brother, paling, as his eyes darted back and forth between Mitsuki and the chaos of petals. 

“What—” His voice came out as barely a whisper, and Mitsuki cleared his throat, trying again. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came back to get Nanase-san and Yotsuba-san’s things when I saw you go in here, but then you didn’t come out for so long, so I…” Iori stepped closer, bending down to help Mitsuki to his feet. His vision swam one he was upright, and he couldn’t tell if the fine tremble running through him was from his own shaking muscles or from Iori, who hadn’t looked this distraught since Mitsuki was 11 and got a burn along the length of his forearm from reaching into the oven improperly. “For how long? Why didn’t you say anything? Who—never mind who. You’re getting the surgery.” 

“Iori.” Quietly, Mitsuki was glad the question of _who_ wasn’t tossed aside, since he wasn’t sure he could keep the flowers at bay if he had to say it aloud. “Just a couple of weeks. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make my little brother worry over me. And because you’d tell me to get the surgery right away.” 

“I’m not letting you _die_!” 

“No. No, I always planned to get it eventually, I just need to…try, first.” 

“And did you?” 

“…can you give me tonight?” Mitsuki wiped his mouth, and looked up at Iori, watched how his words made the severe lines of his brother’s frown deepen. “Please?” 

“Like I’d say no to you when you ask me seriously,” Iori said, sighing as he reached over to start flushing the toilet, clearing out the petals a chunk at a time. The corners of his mouth tightened, a small, fuming quirk of them, before he added, “he’s an idiot. And doesn’t deserve you.” 

“You’d say that about anyone.” Of course, of course Iori would know, instantly, and Mitsuki wasn’t sure if the painful clench in his chest was at the reminder of his situation or out of fondness for Iori. “Thank you.” 

“I’m not sure about _anyone_ …” Iori protested, as the last of the petals disappeared down the pipes. “Let me go get Nanase-san and Yotsuba-san’s bags, and then we can go.” 

“Wait, I need to go talk to Momo-san about clearing the hallway.” 

“Why would—ah, right, to get Rokuya-san out without prying eyes. I can take care of that.” 

“You don’t need to…” _Do that,_ Mitsuki wanted to say, but the hands Iori still had on his arms from helping him up tightened their grip, and Iori ducked his head, his fringe falling into his eyes. “Iori?” 

“I didn’t know,” he said, a tremor at the ends of his words. “I didn’t know what you were going through, so you went through it alone. If you wanted to take on that burden to protect me, then let me take care of you now that I’m aware of it. Right now, I can’t do anything for Nanase-san, and I can’t do anything for Rokuya-san. At least let me do something for you.” 

“Sorry.” For scaring him, for making him worry, for asking him to bear with it for a little longer. He hadn’t wanted it to go this way, for so much to be dumped on Iori at once, who, for all his posturing was still a teenager, still a bit of that kid who looked up at him with shining, admiring eyes. But Mitsuki needed to be selfish for just a short while longer. He reached up to lay his hand at the crown of Iori’s head, gentle as he ruffled the other’s hair. “I’ll let you baby me just this once, if it’ll make up for everything.” 

“You don’t have anything to make up for. I just want you to be all right.” 

“I will be. No matter what. Okay?” 

“Okay.” Iori swiped a hand over his eyes and straightened, giving Mitsuki a shaky approximation of a smile. “Do you mind staying here? You can come with me, but it’s probably easier if I just tell everyone you got held up by someone wanting to talk and couldn’t get away.” 

“I’ll be fine on my own for five minutes.” Mitsuki nudged at him until Iori finally took a reluctant step back to leave. The room wasn’t spinning anymore, at least. “I probably look like a mess, anyway.”

“Nii-san looks cute as always,” Iori said, generously, but then he was gone, the door shutting behind him with a muffled clunk. 

Even with Iori’s usual frightening efficiency to speed things up, Mitsuki had enough time to rinse his mouth out, wipe the sweat off his face and neck, and think of Nagi, if he was all right, if Mitsuki should say anything to him tonight or would it be like cheating if he waited until the feelings were all carved out to confess his own. He had to stop the latter after just a minute or two, since every time his mind drifted in that direction he began he felt the telltale tickle of flowers in his throat, so instead he focused on a point just above the mirror and tried to think of nothing at all, nothing about what lay beyond this night or whatever led before it, until Iori stepped in to fetch him again with everyone’s bags. 

On the cab ride over to the hospital, they were both silent, but Iori was glued to his phone and rabichat, thumbs tapping and tapping away at the screen. Mitsuki didn’t glance over to see who he was talking to. He didn’t know if he wanted whatever information Iori was receiving quite yet. 

Yamato was waiting for them when they were dropped off, and lead them around to an entrance that didn’t go through the waiting room, with permission from one of the nurses. It was bizarre, almost funny, to see all of them traipsing around in costumes, but in the white florescence of the hospital, Mitsuki only felt cold, the fabric meant to be under burning hot stage lights not enough to ward off the chill. 

“Nagi’s stable. They took him to a room and the manager’s talking to the doctors,” Yamato said, as they approached the group already waiting. Tamaki was hunched against a wall while Sougo perched next to Riku on a pair of chairs pulled out into the hall. Iori, after touching Mitsuki’s shoulder, kind and acknowledging, strode over to where Riku was sitting. Heaving a sigh, Yamato nudged his thumb and index finger under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “But I can’t believe _Nagi_ of all people pulled one over on us. How the hell did none of us notice what was happening?” 

“Not even Mikki,” Tamaki supplied, unhelpfully. “He must have been really, really sneaky.” 

That was right, wasn’t it, that Mitsuki hadn’t noticed a thing because he was too busy trying to hide his own sickness? Maybe that should be a good enough excuse for why he didn’t pick up on the suffering of someone he was so close to, someone he loved, but shouldn’t he have seen something, _anything_ , the tiniest scrap of a hint that something was wrong? He felt sick, a roiling sweep of nausea, to think of each time he wrote off anything odd about Nagi’s behavior as exhaustion from work or staying up too late on the internet again. 

But…but everyone gathered there, and Nagi too, had likely done the same to Mitsuki over the past couple of weeks, and he didn’t blame them a single drop. He banked on it, banked on their trust, banked on their own busy schedules, banked on their concern being swept away if he acted perkier the next day.

“I…” He swallowed, hard, against the bile—not flowers—he felt climbing up his throat. “We talked about it, after what happened to Katoaka Mieko on TV, and Nagi told me if it happened to him, he’d get the surgery eventually. I think he was just working things out on his own, and didn’t want us to worry.” 

“We could have helped!” Riku protested. There were wet tracks cutting through his stage makeup, down his cheeks. “I would have done whatever he needed.” 

“If Rokuya-san wanted us to interfere, he would have been the first to say something,” Iori said, and Mitsuki hoped no one else spotted the brief flash of a glance shot his way. “Sometimes, you feel you need to try on your own.”

Riku sniffed, and gave Iori a strange, wobbling look, but he didn’t speak again. No one else did, either, for long, drawn-out minutes where Mitsuki had to bite back a flinch every time there was a burst of clamor from elsewhere in the hospital, until Yamato took a short step closer to him and lowered his voice to a murmur, out of range of the others in the hallway. 

“He talked to you about it?” 

“It was a hypothetical,” Mitsuki replied, knowing he wasn’t even aware of his own emotions then. “Unless he already had symptoms by that point, but I didn’t know.” 

“He talked to us in the car—when he could, at least—and said it happened a little after that ‘party’ he threw for me.” Yamato was watching him, without accusation or suspicion, but his gaze was steady, and Mitsuki felt like he was under a magnifying glass all the same. “Was that before or after he spoke with you?” 

“Before.” Which meant— “Was he trying to tell me and I just didn’t listen?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” The set of his mouth was strangely grim, and he kept looking at Mitsuki like he had an answer for something, but Mitsuki had never felt more clueless and bereft in his life. “Listen, Mitsu. I didn’t want to say anything before, but now I think I should. I wasn’t asleep in the car that night.” 

It took just a beat for Mitsuki to remember what night that was, the one where he fell asleep on Nagi’s shoulder, but even if Yamato saw that, it shouldn’t have meant anything. They’d all fallen asleep on each other before, in some way, and Nagi was infamously tactile and affectionate. There had been nothing revealing about it, so why was Yamato acting like there was? Before Mitsuki could puzzle it out, or ask for clarification, he heard the click of rapid footsteps down the corridor and turned to see Tsumugi hurrying towards them. 

“He’s fine!” She said, before she reached where they were all scrambling to gather in a half-circle to hear. Her smile was a little wan, but genuine, as she glanced around to all of them in turn. “He’s fine. The doctors say there won’t be any lasting or serious damage to his vocal chords or anything like that. He—well, he agreed to get the surgery, but he has to stay here for now. The earliest they could possibly get it done is tomorrow afternoon.” 

“You mean it?” Tamaki said, voice wavering, with tears or relief, Mitsuki couldn’t tell from where he was standing. “Nagicchi’ll be okay after that?” 

“One-hundred percent!” Tsumugi nodded. “After the surgery and some rest, he’ll be in perfect shape.” 

“Thank goodness.” Sougo put a hand to his chest, sagging a little. “Can we see him?” 

“They gave him a sedative to stop the flowers temporarily, so he’s sleeping right now. The doctors said it might be best if we let him rest and came back in the morning.” 

“He’d be alone? The whole night?” The threat of tears was unmistakable in Riku’s tone, and Mitsuki did not want to think about what nights alone in the hospital were really like for Riku in order to make the distress in his features that palpable, his knuckles white and hands shaking from where they were balled in fists at his sides. 

“Um! I’m sure I could convince the staff to let me stay! So it’s—”

“Ah, manager,” Yamato interjected. “You probably have a lot to get done, right? A bunch of calls, rearranging Nagi’s schedule, dealing with press stuff…one of us could stick around instead.” 

“That…might be true, but…” 

“I’ll do it.” It was probably a bad idea. It was probably a horrible idea to shove himself in a situation where he’d be alone with Nagi in a vulnerable situation, but they were still friends, they were so close before all of this happened that Mitsuki knew he’d live to regret it forever if he didn’t shove all his uncertainty aside to be with Nagi now. Iori shot him another look, which prompted him to add, “I want to do it.” 

“If you’re sure.” Tsumugi regarded him questioningly for a moment, but apparently finding nothing in his face that would give her pause, she smiled, gratefully. “We seem to leave him to you for a lot of other things, don’t we?” 

“It’s a little different than a party!” The thought stung, with a thin needle of jealousy, but Mitsuki would still give anything to be dragging Nagi away from charming giggling actresses instead of sitting with him in a hospital bed. “But I’ll manage.”

Nagi was sleeping, and still, when Mitsuki was finally left with him after persuading the staff, after everyone else had left, after he promised updates in the unlikely case that anything changed in Nagi’s condition. Mitsuki had scrubbed his makeup off and changed, and he weirdly felt as sterilized as the room, cold where the water still clung at his hairline. He pulled up a chair and sat, watching the way the blankets rose and fell over Nagi’s chest as he breathed. He didn’t belong there, like someone had painted a spelled fairy tale prince with the wrong background. 

Somehow, it didn’t feel right to touch him, either, an indulgence too ill-gotten, but the more Mitsuki stared, the more he thought about that scene in the dressing room, how petrified he’d been, how the idea of losing Nagi still made his chest cavity feel stacked with lead, still dropped the bottom out of his stomach. In the end, he couldn’t help it when he reached over to take Nagi’s wrist. It was warm, his pulse thudding beneath Mitsuki’s fingers. He heard it in the mechanical beeps of the machines around them, but it was better to feel it, to count the beats that way instead, even if it made his chest tighten with the promise of roses. 

He wanted to say it then, wanted to bring Nagi’s hand up to his lips and whisper it there, over and over again until maybe it sunk down into him in a way that not even surgery could remove, but that was unfair, that was a way Mitsuki could avoid dealing with how the flowers in his own lungs still meant _unrequited_. Instead, rubbed his thumb in a line from the heel of Nagi’s palm, down across the delicate skin of his wrist, and up again. And again, and again, in a rhythm like a metronome for a piano, and Mitsuki found himself humming, softly. Nonsense scales until, with a bit of a smile, he drifted into the opening of Magi☆Cocona. 

It was pointless, maybe, since Nagi was already fast asleep, but Mitsuki wanted to return the favor. 

*****

Out of a shallow sleep plagued by anxiety dreams were he lost the key to the dorm and couldn’t remember the steps to a dance he’d done hundreds of times before, Mitsuki woke to a tap on his shoulder. Blearily, he raised his head, feeling his neck and shoulders stiff, and blinked, focusing on Nagi sitting up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. 

“Nagi…?” And then, in a rush that jolted him to complete wakefulness, he remembered. The hospital. “Nagi! How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” 

“ _I’m okay_.” His voice was awful, hoarse and painfully quiet. “I’d like some water, however.” 

“Right! Uh—” After a moment of fumbling with the pitcher set on one of the bedside tables, Mitsuki handed Nagi a glass of water, which he drained in seconds. 

“Thank you.” He sounded better, even after that much, and accepted the second glass Mitsuki poured for him, sipping on it much more slowly. “What are you doing here? The last person I remember being with was our manager.” 

“Everyone rushed over here after what happened at the show, and since no one wanted you to be alone in the hospital all night…” Mitsuki gestured to himself. “Here I am.” 

“I’m glad.” His smile was grateful, but it faded quickly, into something faintly contrite. “I should apologize to everyone. I didn’t mean to make them worry, but this…this all happened a lot more quickly than I expected it to.” 

“You said you’d get the surgery, but if you really wanted, we could get whoever-it-is in here. I don’t know how much of a scandal it’d be but we—” Petals caught in his throat and Mitsuki’s breath hitched, but he forced them back, inhaling, slow and deep. “—we all love you, Nagi, we’d think of something. So please—”

“I was rejected,” Nagi said, so, so softly. So murmured and resigned Mitsuki felt _anger_ for a brief, flashing moment. “I wasn’t lying when I told you I’d get the surgery in that case. There’s a lot more for me to live for, isn’t there?” 

Mitsuki could ask a dozen questions in response, especially about who. Who did Nagi fall for and who the hell did they think they were rejecting him, but instead he stood from his chair, and took the small step needed to close the distance between him and the edge of the bed. Nagi stared at him, eyes wide with surprise, but he didn’t say a word. 

“I’m going to keep my promise,” Mitsuki declared, because maybe it was selfish logic for selfish reasons, but he wanted Nagi to know he was loved, in this moment, before he went and got surgery to rip his own out of him. Wanted Nagi to know he was adored and cherished by _someone_ in the world, even if that someone was Mitsuki and not what Nagi wanted. “I—”

“Mitsuki?” Nagi sounded concerned, upset, and Mitsuki looked to him, only to realize his vision was blurry, tears dropping off when he blinked. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Nothing he could articulate, nothing he could explain properly when there was so much else he wanted to say, and he didn’t need to look to know Nagi was frowning, jaw ticking in frustration that way it did before, when he knew Yamato was lying to them. 

“Are you worried?” Mitsuki heard the soft _thunk_ of the water glass being set aside before Nagi tried to pull his hands away from his face. He refused. He didn’t want to see the expression on Nagi’s face right then, not the pity and not the care as Mitsuki tried to pull himself together. He already felt overwhelmed, hollowed out from an adrenaline crash and emotional tug-of-war, but he had to do this. If nothing else. 

“I need you to listen. Because I’m going to be pathetic at you for a little while, again.” For a moment, there was no reply, and he knew Nagi was probably biting back objections to Mitsuki calling himself pathetic in the silence. 

“I’ll listen,” he answered, finally, and let go, the imprint of his fingertips still tingling as Mitsuki lowered his own arms, blinking away the last of the tears. His eyelashes were wet and clumped together, but that was all. “I’ll always listen.” 

It hurt to know that was true, that even after the both of them had this removed, they’d still have so much, still have anime and dramas to watch, still take walks in the summer, still sing and dance and perform together. He’d still have to wrangle Nagi at parties, and still be subjected to all the exuberant, tactile affection the other granted everyone. It hurt, because it wasn’t enough. He’d never been a selfish kind of person, but Mitsuki wanted more and more still, wanted in a way he didn’t know he was capable of, and maybe he would have felt guilty over that if it hadn’t also been so tender, something he’d wanted to treasure. He’d endured the flowers this long for that very reason. 

He needed to say as much. He needed to say how much he loved every bit of Nagi, even the parts that got under his skin, even the parts Nagi himself thought were unpleasant, but his chest was so tight he couldn’t speak, like vines were tightening and tightening in a vise. He choked the moment he opened his mouth, petals fluttering out before he could get a hand over his mouth. They landed on the bed, vivid yellow against the white, and a spike of panic surged in his abdomen before he realized that it didn’t matter at all anymore what Nagi saw or knew.

“Those are for you,” Mitsuki managed, voice strangled, and he tried to say more, tried to say it better, tried to say even a fraction of everything he wanted to express, but another cough sent a whole flower dropping to the floor, and in the time it took to take in another breath, Nagi wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze was dipped towards the petals, dazedly, and he inched his hand over to touch one, so lightly it was as if he was afraid they’d vanish if he did.

“That day, when we walked by Zero Arena,” he said, slow and trembling. “Did you run off because you didn’t want me to know about this?” 

“Yeah.” Why was Nagi talking about this? What did that shiver in his words mean? “I didn’t know what else to do when I was about to dump flowers all over you.” 

“Mitsuki.” His name was exhaled as though it was something delicate, and precious, and Mitsuki’s head shot up to see Nagi staring back at him. Unshed tears glistened in the low florescent lights, but Nagi was smiling, too, one Mitsuki had never seen before. One brilliant and warm and enchanting, like the sun was rising in the blue of his eyes. It made Mitsuki feel drunk, the dizzy, fuzzy rush of it, and worsened when Nagi reached out and pulled him closer, the sudden movement sending him reeling. Nagi’s hands were clutching the fabric of his shirt and he felt the sweet press of lips at his jaw, his cheek, his forehead—something familiar because it happened once before, Mitsuki remembered, in the _car_ before he fell asleep. That was what Yamato was talking about. Which meant— “I love you. I love you, I love you.” 

“Wait, you—you said you were rejected! I never did that, you never told me anything to reject!” A part of Mitsuki was protesting at wanting answers when Nagi was so obviously willing to keep kissing every part of him, but he wanted to stop his head from spinning, and setting the record straight might help with that. To his credit, Nagi paused, thoughtfully, without more than a small noise of protest. 

“I thought it was very, very obvious I was going to kiss you that day,” he explained. “And when someone covers their mouth and runs away when you’re about to kiss them…well, I didn’t think I needed much more than that, really.” 

“That’s...” Slowly, as the roses withered, a bubbling sense of delight started to fill him, pressed against his edges, kicked his pulse up into an excited thrum until he was flush with it, thought he could burst from it. Nagi was still looking at him, patiently, fondly. Mitsuki met his eyes. “You’re an idiot.” 

Before Nagi could protest, in that very loud, particular pitch when he was truly indignant Mitsuki leaned in to bridge the tiny bit of space still left between them and pressed his mouth to Nagi’s. It was wet, from Mitsuki failing to wipe his face off after crying, off-center from having the edge of the hospital bed in the way, but he could feel Nagi smile into it, still felt a thrill to his core from the softness, the taste, from everything, everything Mitsuki never dreamed he could have stretching out before him. 

After they parted, Nagi’s cheeks were tinted pink, in happiness and excitement Mitsuki was sure, because he felt the same heat rise to his own face for the exact same reasons. Unthinkingly, he reached up to cradle Nagi’s face, traced a line with his thumb under Nagi’s eye, across that stripe of color, almost marveling that he could elicit that kind of reaction. 

“Can I hear it from you?” Nagi murmured, his tone low in a way Mitsuki already _knew_ was going to be trouble. He tipped his head into Mitsuki’s hand. “Please?” 

“I love you.” He’d say it even without the persuasion, without that syrupy _please_ , but he let Nagi get away with being as charming as he wanted. Just this once. Just for a while. “Nagi, I love you.” 

And even if the next kiss lasted and lasted until they were both a little desperate for air, for the first time in weeks, Mitsuki felt like it was easy to breathe. 

*****

This time, the sunlight woke him. It was bright and harsh, the kind that shone closer to midday. Mitsuki squinted against it, and wanted to roll over so it was out of his eyes, but Nagi’s arm was around his back, which made it especially hard to move on a narrow hospital bed. As he was deciding if carefully readjusting Nagi’s hold without waking him was worth it, noise started and grew outside the door. At first, Mitsuki thought it must be the hospital staff dealing with something in the hallway, but the voices rose in a clamor, along with the scuffle of feet. Beside him, Nagi stirred, and Mitsuki was afforded short, wonderful moment of Nagi at his most beautiful, mussed and soft from sleep, a sliver of blue as his eyes fluttered open, before the door burst open and the rest of their unit mates all simultaneously tried to squeeze inside. 

“They might still be asleep!” Behind the jostling group was Tsumugi, who was standing on her tiptoes trying to see over their shoulders. “When I came earlier, they were…oh.” 

“We’re awake,” Mitsuki said, watching as Riku finally managed to wriggle his way into the room. They all seemed oddly giddy, considering the mood they departed in the previous night. Curious, when Nagi let go of him to cover a yawn with the back of his hand, Mitsuki took the chance to hop off the bed, thinking he’d go talk to their manager about the change in attitude. Nagi frowned after him, displeased at the sudden distance, before Riku distracted him. 

“It’s fine now, right?” He shuffled closer, uncertainly, and cast a look back at the larger group. What the hell was going on? 

“ _Oh._ Of course.” Sitting up, Nagi held his arms out for a hug. “Come here.”

Instantly, all that apprehensiveness in Riku’s expression crumpled into relief, and he flung himself forward, letting Nagi scoop him up into an embrace. Tamaki followed, bending down to encircle his arms around the both of them and squeeze. Mitsuki would have thought Nagi might have been crushed if he couldn’t hear the other’s muffled, delighted laughter. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Nagi,” Riku said. “So, _so_ glad.” 

“Nagicchi, you gotta promise not to do anything like that ever, ever again,” Tamaki added. “And you owe me pudding. Worrying fee.” 

“I _am_ sorry for what I must have put you all through. Pudding is a small price to pay, I think.” 

Baffled, Mitsuki looked to the remaining three members for answers, who in turn, simply glanced to Tsumugi. 

“Um, well, you see, I came in before everyone else visited to talk to the doctors and send you back to the dorm, and…it’s just…the way you were sleeping…” She was turning steadily redder, the motions of her hands getting more frantic, and Mitsuki wondered if it was too late to squeeze onto the bed between Riku and Tamaki and smother himself in the blankets. “I didn’t mean to assume anything, but it looked like everything resolved itself!” 

“And none of you have an issue with this?” 

“No one _else_ does,” Iori muttered, sullenly, as he moved to stand beside Mitsuki. “This is going to cause endless headaches, but…if it’s the _only_ way everyone ends up all right, what can I say about it?” 

“I keep telling him we’ve absolutely, definitely been through worse!” Shooting a mutinous look at Iori, Riku finally released Nagi and stepped away from the bed. “So it’s okay!” 

“It’s meant to be forbidden, but I wouldn’t abandon any of you over something you love,” Sougo said, taking Riku’s place to give Nagi a gentle, one-armed squeeze. Beside him, Tamaki slurred something that sounded like _don’t care_. “How could I?” 

“If you ask me, it’s not like there’s much to cover up from how things already were. Besides—” Yamato shoved a magazine at Mitsuki, who took it on instinct. “—no one’s going to notice a thing about anyone who’s not Katoaka Mieko for weeks. She’s out of the hospital with a boyfriend.” 

“What?” When Mitsuki looked at what had been thrust into his hands, he saw the entire cover of the magazine—tabloid, more accurately—by a vaguely blurry picture of Katoaka Mieko exiting a hospital with a tall, dark-haired man beside her. Between them, their hands were clasped, pressed tightly palm to palm. “Huh. I guess it worked out for her too.” 

“Dunno about worked out since no one knows what’s going to happen to her filming,” Yamato said. “But pictures of that at different angles are all over the internet, so it seems pretty legitimate.” 

“It is!” Chirped a voice from the doorway, and everyone turned at once to see Momo giving a cheerful wave, while Yuki stepped into the room beside him, serene and impassive as always. “Yahoo! Idols here to make a sick kid feel better! How’s it going, Nagi?” 

“Very well!” Nagi replied, brightly. “I didn’t know you’d been told about my hospital stay, so this is a surprise.” 

“After Iori came to us all frantic and asked if we’d clear backstage for a reason he absolutely, definitely couldn’t tell us, I got really curious and worried. So I said hi to your manager over rabichat and she filled me in on some things. I filled in the rest myself.” Blithely, he walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair, with Yuki following suit. Everyone else in the room, including Mitsuki, was too stunned to stop them. Or ask him how he managed that. Re:vale didn’t mean any harm, after all. “Ooh, we brought apples, too.” 

“I can peel them for you,” Yuki offered, and Nagi made a show of consideration. “And feed them to you.”

“Since you are not a beautiful woman…” 

“Nagi,” Mitsuki said, exasperated. 

“…or Mitsuki…” 

“ _Nagi!_ ” 

“…I would usually decline. But, because you both came out all this way, I will make an exception.” 

Yuki’s smile, after peeling and cutting the fruit, made his eyes crinkle, giving him a satisfied, cat-with-cream look that on anyone else would be a grin as he popped a slice of apple into Nagi’s mouth. It only grew wider as Momo raised his hand and said _me next, me next_. 

“Yuki looks good doing anything, but next time maybe I should bring an apron to complete the look?” 

“Okay, this is all too much flirting for me this early.” Yamato put a hand to his temple and dragged a chair over to him using his foot, before dropping down on it. “Onii-san’s going to take a nap.” 

“It’s nearly noon, Yamato-san,” Sougo said, and Yamato just waved him off. 

“Ah, Yamato got embarrassed, so he’s now pretending to sleep.” Nagi beamed, apparently unconcerned all of his apple was now going to Momo instead. “You do that a lot, don’t you?” 

“Did you know I was awake in the car?” He cracked one eye open, accusatory. Nagi blithely shrugged. 

“What does he mean? What happened in the car?” Mitsuki was saved from having to answer Iori’s interrogation by a nurse coming in, carrying a bunch of yellow and white polka dot balloons attached to a small stack of boxes, all wrapped in beautiful metallic paper with a logo he recognized as a high-class chocolatier brand. She did not seem perturbed at a group of idols congregating in a small space, including two who probably shouldn’t be there at all, probably because she only had eyes for one of them, and continued smiling politely at Riku even after she set the bundle down and turned to leave. Mitsuki had to speculate, then, how much an autograph had let them bypass the usual rules and regulations. Tsumugi walked over and took the card, turning it over in her hands before breaking the seal and opening it. 

“’Get well soon!’” She read aloud. “’From Kujo Tenn, Tsunashi Ryuunosuke, and Yaotome Gaku.’” 

“Why did you get a gift from TRIGGER? Does _everyone_ know you’re here? _How_ does everyone know you’re here?” 

“I might have talked to Tenn-nii last night,” Riku chimed in, shrinking sheepishly when Iori’s glower turned towards him. “I just told him Nagi was sick and I was really worried, and then he asked what hospital…” 

When Iori dissolved into lecturing Riku about revealing confidential details on IDOLiSH7 and Riku arguing back that he knew Tenn wouldn’t say a word about it because he’s not like that, Mitsuki sat down on the edge of Nagi’s hospital bed, heavily. He still felt like he needed a week to recover from a single night. 

“Mitsuki.” He turned at the sound of his name, and Nagi tipped his head to the side meaningfully, a beckoning gesture. Mitsuki was about to refuse, but, everyone did seem rather involved with themselves for the moment, so he inched closer. “I was just wondering…I know it’s not like it matters now that it’s cured, but were you going to tell everyone about your own illness as well?” 

“Oh. At some point, probably. Iori already knows. But…” He looked out at the room, over the conversations, the easy companionship. The palpable relief. “…not today.” 

“I understand. Everyone is happy.” Apparently sensing his reluctance to be open in front of everyone crammed in so close, Nagi pressed his first two fingers to his lips and then to Mitsuki’s cheek, in lieu of a genuine kiss. Somehow, that was worse, and Mitsuki felt himself flush up to his ears. “Are you?”

“Of course I am. Isn’t it obvious?” 

“I like to hear it,” Nagi said. “I’m happy too. More importantly, I’ll be happier in the future, I think.” 

It was a little amazing to Mitsuki that Nagi could be so sure of such a thing, in the face of the nebulous, inscrutable future. There was no telling, after all, and he remembered the heavy crowd of reporters and paparazzi in that photo of Katoaka Mieko, the flood of whatever biased, inconsiderate, awful things people were saying on the internet. But he also remembered her hand clutched with her boyfriend’s in the midst of it. A connection she had refused to relinquish. 

Gently, Mitsuki dropped his own hand over Nagi’s resting on the bed, and laced their fingers together, snug and out of sight. Nagi squeezed back.

**Author's Note:**

> So I kind of mixed and matched the flowers they've been in merch with. The roses are from Nagi's 2016 AGF design, and the sunflowers are from Mitsuki's card in the first album bonus. I thought those fit a little more than matching the specific set (petunias for Mitsuki in AGF or yellow tulips for Nagi from the first album). It doesn't say so in the fic but sunflowers mean "adoration/passionate love" and "respect." Pretty fitting, right? 
> 
> The timeline of i7 can get wonky sometimes, so just consider this sometime after Yamato and Chiba Salon wraps up but before anything else drastic happens. I don't know if there's even a three week-ish gap there in canon but now there is. 
> 
> Title comes from "Ruse and the Caper" by Coyote Theory.
> 
> Come say hi on twitter @magicocona if you're so inclined! Thank you all so much for reading!


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